Seasonal Salon

Crone Child Comes to Spring

I have the need for promises that

make more sense than the mundane

face of you. A need that draws peace

from the forgetfulness of my broken

brain. I can remember promises

because they by-pass my brain

spiking my heart in neat clusters.


Crone child living the innocence

of each silver lined moment. The

practical mother surrendered with

the release of your shoulds and

pin-prick responsibilities. All losses

are victories for the good girl,

the good wife, the hopeless

mother. A jellyfish floats behind

my eye threatening to sting Iris

if she gives me the message

that makes sense of my life.


Adults paint rainbows of

careless promises which attach

like desert barbs to the feet

of childish souls. Anyone with

a pet knows bristles must be

removed with meticulous care.

End of life care. End of this

life. At the end of this life

I need promises to keep me

tethered and afloat until

the last big wind blows me

to seed the freedom I have

always longed to be close

enough to fear.

Category: Beltane 2014